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whatever IT is, it gets my deepest bows of speechless gratitude

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This brain, that was shut down with anesthetic restores itself, miraculously, to crystal clear functioning. This body, that was a beating corpse on a surgical slab has slept soundly and arises refreshed, resurrected. This knee, that was entered through four small portals, explored with a magical eye on the end of a probe, excavated to remove four large ‘foreign objects’ and flushed out to remove the smaller bits, rests happily on a plumped-up cushion. The swelling and soreness subside with each new day. Healing is happening.

How incredible it is that healing just happens. Sure, it’s often facilitated by the intervention of surgeons, care-givers, and others with uncanny gifts (Life’s lovely helpers.) But who can truthfully claim that they ‘do it?’

Whatever the inconceivable ‘IT’ is that lives this body-mind and knows exactly how to restore its systems to their proper functioning – whatever IT is, it gets my deepest bows of speechless gratitude. I’d be on my knees – but that will have to wait.

No, we don’t do it. We, surgeons, are ony Nature’s helpers. It is vis medicatrix natura, its subordinate, that heals. Asclepius, Hippocrates, and the whole healing host following after them, are It’s willing servants.